The Drabble Collection Volume One
by Cardinal Robbins
Summary: Some Munchy drabbles and maybe a short oneshot, some with Zelman, some not. A ragtag collection I cobbled together, in case these weren't read over at the Munchagoguereformed site. SVU AU


These are some miscellaneous one-shots, drabbles and double-drabbles. Hope you enjoy them!

Disclaimer: One is mine, one is not, but that doesn't stop me.

"On My Command"

by Cardinal Robbins

"Draw! Fire! Now!" he yelled, hearing the rapport and seeing the muzzle flash. He sighed, frustrated. "Stop thinking about the situation and draw, dammit! Fire!" Again, another rapport and flash followed his commands.

He heard a deep intake of breath, heard the sound of gunfire resonate throughout. "Once more, don't think – do it!" He fought the rush of adrenalin in his system and lowered his voice ever so slightly. "Once more. Faster this time, or we'll both end up dead." The command preceded the sharp sound of a nine-mill cartridge hitting its mark.

"Don't stop – fire again." He watched as the Glock was drawn, raised, the target sighted, the trigger pulled. "Once again, no hesitating." Even faster this time, so quickly he didn't see the draw, just heard the sound, saw the flash.

"Better. Again. Breathe! You need to be smoother." John Munch felt like a drill sergeant, snapping off orders. It was all for the good of the squad, for his safety…for hers. "Good. Stop and take a quick break."

Sarah Zelman put her Glock 34 down on the bench in front of her, wishing she could sag against the wall. She was a fast draw, of that there had never been a doubt. But she wanted to be as rapid and smooth as John Munch, the fastest, most accurate draw in the entire Sixteenth Precinct.

John had agreed to drill her until she could approach his time, his smoothness, his ultimate finesse with the weapon their lives depended upon. He had to get through to Sarah, to get her past the split-second of hesitation, which kept her from matching his time. He wouldn't let up until she had achieved perfection.

He owed her that; it was what she wanted. Why he was there. The reason her arms and wrists ached sharply, yet she refused to quit.

"Go," she snapped curtly, giving the signal for him to thumb the stopwatch once more.

"On my command – draw!" he ordered, realizing with satisfaction she'd drawn and fired faster than he could time it. "Good! Again." He watched, nodding his head, as she fluidly drew her weapon, fired with extreme accuracy and drew again – much faster than he'd seen since they'd started.

"Halt. Put down your weapon," he insisted, as she holstered her Glock.

"Why did you stop me?" she asked, confused. She could feel the sweat beading across her forehead. Her fingers would ache for hours, she knew. Too much time choking up on the grip, but she was getting better. "C'mon, John… What's up? Why are we stopping?"

"Because you're exhausted," he explained. "And because you've matched my time."

"I did? You're sure?"

"Yes." He looked at her and smiled, satisfied at last.

Disclaimer: He's not mine. But I'd take him if I could.

"Taking the Shot"

by Cardinal Robbins

John Munch was watching the world from high above it.

Leaning his shoulder into the butt of his sniper rifle, he observed his target through the cross-hairs of a laser scope.

Five seconds, John, he thought. Five seconds is all you'll have to shoot. To take that fateful single shot. You have one round chambered. Just one.

Steady. Zen. Deep breath. Allow for the breeze, trajectory, deceleration of the round as it leaves the rifle. Breathe, John. Stop thinking about the sweat beading on your upper lip.

A flash of color. Sound.

Take the shot. Now!

He felt the recoil, saw the flash. Watched as the round tore through. One. Only one.

A 'surgical shot,' clean, precise. Exactly what SWAT looked for, he knew.

As he left the target range that day, he could feel the rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins. He returned the rifle to the range master and walked out, deeply gratified.

He knew he would remain with Special Victims, but there was a quiet confidence in knowing your marksmanship was no less than impeccable.

One shot was all he had been allowed. The difference between life and death.

He had taken it.

He was satisfied.

# # #

Disclaimer: Not mine, but that's okay for now.

"Laundry Day"

by Cardinal Robbins

"Bro, you smell like…'floral freshness' or 'white gardenias' or somethin,'" Fin quipped, as John went by and left a sweetly-scented breeze in his wake.

"Don't start with me, Fin," he retorted, his tone a warning.

"Ohhhh, I get it. Sarah must have done your laundry, since your machine's busted again." He laughed, bringing Stabler over to witness the ridicule.

"So? What if she did?" Munch wanted to go roll in the dirt. When he got up that morning, his shirts were not only laundered, but ironed as well. He smelled distinctly of "White Lilies and Lavender" soap, "Cool Mists of Time" fabric softener, and "Rosie Dawns" spray starch. He'd put on enough Mennen Sport Scent deodorant to keep a moose feeling fresh for weeks, all to no avail.

"We could hang up your skinny ass and use you for an Air-Wick!" Tutuola said, as everyone – including Cragen – laughed.

"It's not funny! Zelman made me smell – "

"Like you're strong enough for a man, but made for a woman?" Stabler asked pointedly.

"What about all those times Kathy did your laundry, married man?" Munch shot back.

"I was smart enough to do my own shirts, wise-guy," he replied. "Obviously you…were not."

Disclaimer: Munch isn't mine, but I'd take him if someone offered.

"I Promise"

by Cardinal Robbins

John stood at the bedroom window of Sarah Zelman's apartment, looking out on a sea of sparkling city lights. He almost murmured the words, "Tell me you won't go."

She knew what he meant. After Olivia Benson had gone under with the Bureau, she realized a part of him had gone with her. He had been more distracted, more prone to his self-professed 'occasional bouts of melancholy,' yet more open with her than ever before.

"I wouldn't let them take me," she whispered, intertwining her fingers in his. "They've cost you too much already."

"I need your word."

"I promise."

Disclaimer: Still not mine, but I keep hoping someday...

"Snowflakes"

by Cardinal Robbins

Unique. Different. Multi-faceted.

Every little snowflake was like someone he'd met, friends or criminals. Some stayed in his mind like the snow that caught in the folds of his scarf, others evaporated like the snow on his hair or his cheeks.

Some snowflakes lashed against the windows, holding on to…what? Drifting against the glass together, as he had drifted toward Olivia once. Only to see the possibilities melt away, like so many snowflakes.

Something so unique, so perfect, so completely like Olivia Benson.

Pushed by the wind, compressed into the sum of its parts, able to withstand anything but heat.

Disclaimer: One's mine, one's not. But I'd take him if I could.

"My Favorite"

by Cardinal Robbins

"I swear to all that's holy, I'll never go into a video rental store with you ever again," Sarah Zelman said, trying not to crack a smile.

"Yes, but you're here and you're watching," John replied. "Pass me more popcorn, please?" He fervently wished she'd let him put butter on the popcorn. It was so much better that way. And salt. Lots of salt. She'd vetoed that, too. Purist.

"I'm watching, but I hate this part," she asserted, wishing she could put her hands over her eyes without looking like a four year old. "You get the same DVD every single time. It's embarrassing, John."

"Then why do you let me?" he shot back. John Munch had her over the proverbial barrel with that one. "If you really don't like it, why do we always walk out with it?" He took another handful of popcorn and said, "Watch this…best part."

"I'm watching…" She always did watch, even when her mind screamed against it.

"She's so…compellingly evil," he enthused. "My dream woman." He laughed.

"Next time we do this, you are not renting '101 Dalmatians' and we are not going to spend another night watching Cruella DeVille."

"But it's my favorite."

Disclaimer: They're not mine, but I'd take them if I could.

"View From Above"

by Cardinal Robbins

"Skydiving? You're kiddin' me," Odafin Tutuola said, his mind refusing to wrap around what he heard.

"It's the truth," John Munch asserted, leaning back in his chair and propping up his foot. "Bad landings break ankles." His was encased in a cast.

"You think I'm gonna believe that you went up on a tandem jump, when I can't even get your sorry ass to climb a flight of stairs most of the time?" Fin shook his head and laughed. "John, unless I see videotape evidence, I'm not buyin'."

"I do have a tape," John asserted. "The helmets have tiny cameras on the front, recording everything. Unfortunately, it also taped my landing." He raised his brows and grinned. "Would you like to see it?"

"I think I'll pass," Fin decided. "Seeing my partner look like a bug hitting Mother Nature's windshield is too much."

"The view from above is enthralling, Fin. Falling through the atmosphere at seventy-seven miles per hour, seeing the Earth from how many thousands of feet above," he enthused, "makes you feel you're truly alive."

"It's not the fall that'll kill you," Tutuola shot back, "but that stop at the end."

"I'm still here."

"Lucky as usual, Bro."


End file.
